In The Dark
by Eileen
Summary: A series of musings after lights out by various characters. Final chapter now uploaded! Please review.
1. I. Rogue

IN THE DARK

IN THE DARK

(Disclaimer: characters are property of Marvel/Kids WB.)

I.Rogue 

I can only really think in the dark.

I lie there in my bed, in the still darkness after lights-out, and let my mind free.

Mostly, I think about why I am the way I am. It seems like some kind of cruel joke. Never to touch anyone, ever again? Never to know the joys of making love? Never to have children of my own?

At least I can touch myself.

I slide a hand into the waistband of my pajama bottoms, then down into my underpants. My fingers find that special spot, and I rub back and forth, feeling a kind of heat spreading up through my body.

I'm thinking about boys. One boy in particular. Scott. He's so handsome and kind. I know he likes me, just like I like him.I just wish he could touch me, like I touch myself.

Back and forth, harder, faster. I have to be careful not to get carried away. Last time, I got so caught up that I made a noise, and I woke up Kitty. That girl's a light sleeper, all right.

Far away, I can hear something. A motorcycle engine starting up. Logan must be going out.

He's so lucky. Going where he wants, doing whatever he pleases . . . and whoever he pleases. He's a man, he has needs. I'm sure he goes downtown and finds himself a woman. I wonder if he has to pay her.

Probably not. He's hot. He could have any woman he wants.

I wonder if those claws of his pop out at awkward moments?

I guess I'll never know. He's never so much as looked at me. I don't know if I'm really his type. I've seen him making eyes at me when he thinks no one's looking. Don't know if she's ever noticed. She's such a goody-goody, she probably doesn't have a clue.

Getting close now. To the good part. I close my eyes and picture Scott's face above me. Or below me. Would he let me be on top?

Uh oh. I heard a door opening. Storm must be doing bed checks. After Kurt snuck out last week, I don't blame her. I wonder how close she is.

Hate to stop now, but I can't let her catch me. I pull the blankets up and lie very still.

The door opens. The door closes. I guess she's satisfied we're both in here, asleep.

I try to get back to that good place, but I guess I've lost it. I can't even get pleasure from myself.

I roll over and go to sleep.


	2. II: Kurt

No one can tell I'm blue in the dark

No one can tell I'm blue in the dark.

When I was little, I had a friend who was blind. Helga, her name was. She was two years older than me. She lived near us.

Yes, she could feel the fur, but she must have thought it was some kind of coat or something. She never said anything about it.

She taught me to do cartwheels by placing her hands on me, turning me round and round. She didn't need to see that I was doing it right. She trusted that the ground would be there.

She always trusted that the ground would be there.

Until the day that it wasn't.

I never knew at the time how she died. I was only seven. All my parents told me then was that she had gone to be with the angels.

It wasn't until about a year ago that her mother finally told me the truth.

Helga had fallen over a cliff while she was out picking flowers. The fall had broken her neck; she died instantly and didn't suffer. (They say that like it's a good thing.)

Why didn't she ask me to come with her that day? Were the flowers meant for me?

I hate that she died because she loved me.

Why can't I love anyone without causing them pain?

I think sometimes about what she might be like, had she lived. She had the prettiest eyes. Beautiful eyes that could not see.

She lived by sound, and by touch. She must have touched every inch of me, and never minded what she found. How I miss those small hands on my body, turning me round and round.

No one has touched me so since.

I think Kitty is afraid to touch me. I can see it in her eyes, whenever she looks at me. She likes me as a friend, but can't bring herself to actually touch me. Maybe she's afraid the fur will come off in her hand.

Could I ever find someone else who could touch me without fear? I can't even think about a life without any kind of human contact. I don't know how Rogue stands it.

I need to feel little hands on me again, turning me round, trusting that the ground will be there. I need someone to keep me from falling over the cliffs of hopelessness. (That sounds stupid.)

Take my hand, and don't mind the fur. It's just a thick coat.


	3. III. Scott

I can only really think in the dark

IN THE DARK

III.Scott 

Day, night, it all looks the same to me. I don't even remember what color looks like anymore. It's been like this for almost four years now, but it seems like forever.

Everyone looks to **me** for guidance. Like I have all the answers. It never occurs to them that I might be just as confused, and troubled, and scared as they are. They expect me to be the strong one, so I have to be.

It hurts so much not to be able to cry.

At least I can talk to Jean sometimes. She understands what it's like to have to be the perfect one.

Sometimes I wish we could do more than just talk.

She came here six months after I did. She had just turned twelve; I was thirteen. I can't say it was love at first sight—I think I might have thrown her underwear out the window at one point—but soon enough, we got used to each other.

We trained together, went to school together, ate together . . . no, we still haven't slept together, but don't think we haven't thought about it. Now, of course, that there are more people in the house, it's all but impossible to get a moment alone. But someday . . .

After all, we're supposed to be the "good kids." We're the role models to the younger students. We can't get caught fooling around, much as we'd like to. Fool around, I mean, not get caught.

God, she's so pretty. I love her hair. Even if I don't know what color it is.


	4. IV. Kitty

I can only really think in the dark Valued Gateway Client Normal Valued Gateway Client 7 51 2001-08-16T13:58:00Z 2001-11-08T04:01:00Z 1 315 1796 14 3 2205 9.2720 

IN THE DARK

IV.  Kitty 

Rogue thinks I don't know what she's doing. She waits till she thinks I'm asleep,  and then she does her thing.  Eeeewwww! It's **so** gross! Doing that to herself. Oh well, as long as she doesn't ask me to join in.

What does she think of when she's doing that?

**Who** does she think of?

How am I supposed to sleep with **that** going on across the room?

She's trying hard not to make any noise, but I can hear her **breathing**. And I'm supposed to just lie here and pretend it isn't happening? Oh God, if she calls some boy's name, I'm going over there.

But she doesn't. She keeps the noise down to just heavy breathing and the rustling of her sheets. I wonder how many times she's done this, maybe when I was really asleep.

I could never do that. I wouldn't know how.

It's funny how Rogue seems so much older than me, even though we're the same age. Like she's been around, and done stuff I'd never **dream** of doing. I wonder if she's ever had sex with anyone. For real. Before she got her powers, I mean. It's not like I could just ask her. She doesn't talk about herself much anyway.

I wonder what it feels like.

Not that I'd want to find out any time soon. Kurt follows me around all the time, but he's so goofy. I don't know if it would work out.

Then there's Lance. Why he's interested in me, I'll never know. I mean, we used to go to the same school and all, but he's so much older than me. He's, what, seventeen? Eighteen? Didn't he say he got left back once?

Still, he **is** kind of cute. But it's not like we can go out or anything. He hangs with the Brotherhood, and we're not supposed to talk to them.

It's like I told Jean, it's hard enough just being normal! Then I have all these powers and stuff to deal with. **That's** a lot of fun.

It must be even harder for Rogue to try and be normal. Not that she even tries. She acts like she doesn't care what people think of her, but . . .

It's gotten very quiet over there. Has she gone to sleep? Or just stopped?

I wait a little bit longer. No, she's definitely done for the night. Good. Now maybe **I** can get some sleep.

And dream of being normal.

(Who should I do next? Let me know in a (hopefully nice) review!)


	5. V. Jean

IN THE DARK

V. Jean 

People think I have the perfect life. Oh, if they only knew! You think it's easy knowing what everyone's thinking? There's some really nasty stuff in people's heads sometimes. Stuff I don't **want** to know.

I try to be normal. Athletics helps with that. It's hard to focus on everyone else's problems when there's a ball coming at you. Then there's school projects, and training, and stuff like that, to keep me occupied.

The only time it really bothers me is here, alone at night, in bed. With nothing to distract me, I'm forced to think about it. A lot. And I hate it. It's like I'm the guardian of everybody's dirty secrets. And sometimes, I just want to run into the street, screaming at the top of my lungs. Just to be rid of it. 

And then I have to be the role model for the younger kids. Oh, joy. Don't get me wrong, I do like them, but it's just added pressure I don't need. Between school, and the soccer team, and the X-Men, I have enough to deal with already. There are times I just want to crawl into a hole and stay there till they all go away. But I can't.

Some of the other students envy my powers. They think it must be cool to know what people are thinking. It's better than being hideously deformed, isn't it? Which I could have been. Sometimes I'd almost rather be deformed than be privy to a lot of secrets that no one should know about. That's why thoughts are private. Some of the things I've found out, totally by accident, are . . . disturbing. Nothing criminal, but stuff that gives me the willies to even think about.

Do you think it's **easy **to look at Meghan Dooley and know that her stepfather beats her mother? Or to know that Kristen is sleeping with Janelle's boyfriend behind her back? To know that these people are hurting, and not be able to help them? It drives me crazy sometimes, and yet, if I did go to them, they'd want to know how I knew. And then what would I tell them?

This gift **is** a curse sometimes, and not being able to do anything about it just makes it worse. I can shield myself, but that doesn't make the problem go away.

People don't think I hurt inside, but I do. They don't see that this "perfect" life hides the pain I feel—not for myself, for other people, and their secret sorrow, that I can never share.

(A/N: I'm sorry these are so short. I'm working in a small notebook, and each of these entries takes up 3-4 pages. So who do you want to see next? Should I finish out the X-Men, or skip right to the Brotherhood?)


	6. VI. Ororo/Evan

VI. Ororo/Evan 

Bed checks are done. Time for me to turn in myself.

Not many people know this, but I envy my sister. I would give anything to have a family and a normal life. Some people might think it would be boring, but I could do with a little boredom. I'd rather be bored than lonely.

But I don't talk about that much.

The children are so preoccupied with their own problems that they don't think of me. They're not being thoughtless; they just have a lot on their minds. I remember the first time I used my powers—I was frightened out of my mind.

I've never really gotten close to anyone romantically. I think there's something about me that puts them off.

Which is what necessitated my . . . little purchase.

It's amazing what you can buy over the Internet these days. Most sites are secure, so that nobody else has a clue what you're up to. I'm just thankful they shipped it in a plain white box.

As I take it out and look at it, I wonder what brought me to this. Am I so unapproachable that I can't get a man? That I have to use a . . . an **appliance** to pleasure myself?

Doesn't this thing come with instructions? How do they expect me to know how to use it? I don't even know what kind of batteries it takes! So I bought both AA and AAA. Now I just have to find where they go.

I'm looking for the battery compartment when the door opens. I hadn't realized I left it open a crack. And Evan's there.

I try to hide what I'm holding, but I'm sure he's seen it. Oh, Goddess, if he tells someone—

What am I worried about? I'm an adult. There's no rule against adults owning . . . what I have.

I clear my suddenly dry throat. "Evan. What are you doing up?"

Oh my God. That thing . . . Auntie O had. That wasn't . . . what I think it was, was it? I've never seen one for real.

Where did she get it?

"Uh . . . I saw your light on." That sounds lame.

"Did you want something?"

I keep thinking of that **thing** behind her back. It almost looks like a weapon. "No! Uh, I mean . . . I'll just go back to bed now."

"I would suggest that you do that, as it's after eleven." Is she trying to get rid of me? I hope she at least waits till I'm out of the room.

There's an awkward silence.

"Well . . . good night."

"Good night."

I try not to slam the door, though I want to. I really want to slam the door in my head and block out that image forever.

A vibrator. Auntie O bought a vibrator. No wonder she didn't want to open that package in front of us. I never thought that she would **need **one of those things. I mean, she's always been cool. She doesn't seem lonely, or desperate.

Maybe I just haven't been looking hard enough.

Or maybe she's better at hiding it than we think.

(Okay, I cheated a little. I did Ororo and Evan in one chapter, and I'm going to skip to the Brotherhood next. Don't despair, Logan fans, I may be able to fit him in at the end.)


	7. VII. Todd

IN THE DARK

VII. Todd 

Yeah, okay, I have a Kermit the Frog night light. So what? Something wrong with that?

My dad gave me Kermit, just before he left us. Not that that had anything to do with it or anything. I had a lot of bad dreams when I was little. I don't remember them too much, except that there were a lot of monsters. The monsters were coming to get me.

The next night, Daddy brought me my very own Kermit night light. "To keep the monsters away," he said. "As long as you have this, no monster can ever hurt you."

And it worked—at least for a while. What Dad didn't know is that there are monsters who walk in the daytime. Who look just like ordinary people, until they wind up alone with you in a dark house in the middle of the night. No night light could keep my foster father from doing what he did to me.

And when I tried to tell someone, they'd lock me in the cellar, all alone, far away from the safety of Kermit. It was scary down there. And cold, and damp, and there were all kinds of bugs crawling around. That grossed me out, at first. But that was before they forgot to feed me.

That's how I got a taste for them. It was eat bugs or die, and I didn't want to die. I found out that eating bugs wasn't that bad. Relatively speaking.

You know how I got out of that hell hole? Mystique. She noticed that I always came to school dirty, with holes in my clothes. And I had a habit of stealing other people's lunches cause no body ever made me one. She called me into her office and asked me about it.

I told her everything. The abuse, the locking in the cellar, even the few times "Mom" would belt me one for mouthing off to her. She hardly ever did that; didn't want the social worker to see the marks.

Mystique drove me home and had a little "conference" with the folks. They denied everything, of course. That's when she threatened to go to DCFS and report them.

"I'm willing to bet," she said, "that Todd isn't the first child you've molested. Of course I don't have any **proof**, but . . ." She left that hanging for a while, then went on. "You can sign this Transfer of Custody form now, or we can do this the hard way. Your call."

They signed the paper.

I didn't have much packing to do. They hadn't bought me new clothes in almost two years. All I had was a little bundle of rags, some jewelry and personal stuff of my mother's, and Kermit. As soon as I got here, I plugged him into the wall socket beside my bed, and there he's been ever since, keeping the monsters away.

Now that I know who they are.


	8. VIII. Lance

IN THE DARK

VIII: Lance 

I like this. I like sitting on the roof, looking up at the stars, after everyone else has gone to bed. It's peaceful. No one hassling me, no X-Geeks causing trouble, just me and my little brain.

It's the only time I really have to myself. This isn't the first time I've been in a group foster home. You get some real needy types. Like this girl in my last group home, Tanisha. She was only sixteen, but she had three kids already. By three different guys. They all lived with us too, till one of the fathers went to court and had them taken away. Didn't stop her; she just kept having more. Last I heard, she was on her seventh. 

Then there was Moron. His real name was Myron, but all the kids called him Moron because he was so retarded he couldn't even speak. Yeah, okay, I was one of them.I never claimed to be perfect. He didn't speak, but if you touched him, or tried to take one of his things, he'd scream at the top of his lungs. He really should have been in an institution or something, but the state cut the funding and he had nowhere else to go. 

At least here no one screams or does drugs or anything. Believe me, Mystique wouldn't put up with that for a moment. "You screw up," she said once, "and I'll put you right back where I found you." 

The only one who ever gets away with anything is Pietro. Now, him I don't get. He had a great foster home in the city, with folks who actually liked him. Why he gave that up to come live with us, I don't understand. For kicks? Does he get something out of this, besides not punished when he overflows the toilet **again**? It's no good asking him. It's not like he pays attention to you anyway. 

Maybe somebody else wants him here. He's got a private cell phone connection to the "Big Boss", the guy who's calling the shots. Whom none of the rest of us have ever actually met. Sometimes I think the guy doesn't exist, that Pietro made him up just to make himself feel important. Would we know the difference? He never lets that phone out of his sight. I swear he even sleeps with it under his pillow.

I tell people I can't remember my real parents, but that's not exactly true. They left me on a park bench when I was three. They said we were going out for ice cream. Sat me down with my double-chocolate cone and said, "Be a good boy and wait here. We'll be right back." I never saw them again.

But I still remember my mother. She had brown hair and hazel eyes, and she sang to me when she put me to bed at night. Some Beatles song, I think. 

I watch the stars for a little while longer, then slip into my room and climb into bed. It takes me a while to fall asleep most nights. That's why I sit out on the roof. As long as I'm awake, I might as well enjoy it.

The stars are so pretty, like my mother's eyes. The last words she ever said to me were "I love you". Then she called me by my real name, my secret name, that no one else has ever used. It feels good to have a secret.

It's one o'clock in the morning. I should go to sleep.

I reach under my pillow and pull out my blankie. It's so worn now you can barely tell what color it is. It was blue and white when Mommy used to tuck it in with me at night, before she sang her special song.

I hum a little snatch of it to myself. God, I miss her. I wonder where she is. If she's alive or dead. Why, if she loved me so much, she left me alone that day.

"Good night, Dominic," I whisper, just as she used to. Then I close my eyes and go to sleep.


	9. IX. Fred/Pietro

IN THE DARK

IX. Fred/Pietro 

People think that I'm stupid just cause I'm big and slow. I don't like school cause the other kids make fun of me. Well, they used to. Since I started ripping lockers off the wall, they've learned not to do that. But they still don't like us.

It's not my fault my folks had to get rid of me cause I ate them out of house and home. They kind of sold me to the monster truck show. But that doesn't make them bad people.

I actually liked show business. It was fun showing off for people. And getting paid for it, too. But I didn't like it when they laughed at me. It's not my fault I am how I am. It's not like I can help it or anything.

You remember that old "Incredible Hulk" show? When the guy would get mad and then turn into the Hulk and then start throwing furniture and cars around and stuff? I thought that was cool. **Nobody **messed with that guy.

**That **was what I wanted to be when I grew up. 

Or a professional wrestler. Those guys on TV are really cool, always throwing each other around and smacking each other into tables and stuff. I could do that, easy. 

Man, I've been sitting here so long I forgot what I was watching! I flip around, but nothing looks good.

Pietro comes in, takes the remote, and flips to the cartoon channel. He always does that.

"Hey! I was watching—"

"Noyouweren't."

"Huh?"

"No. You. Weren't." He sounds ticked off at me. Like it's my fault I can't understand him cause he talks so fast.

"Oh. Okay."

We watch the cartoons for a while, and then Pietro says, "You know Mystique went out earlier?"

"Yeah."

"What's up with that?"

How should I know? "Maybe she went food shopping."

"Yeah, right. At this time of night?"

"The supermarket's open 24 hours."

"Grow up, Freddy. She went to meet someone. Someone **special**, if you know what I mean."

"What?" Then it hits me. "Eeewwww."

"My thoughts exactly."

Just me and the big guy, hanging out. Lance is out on the roof, Boss Lady went "out", and Toad's asleep with that stupid little night light of his.

I don't mind it here. I liked my old foster home, but then when I got my powers, everything got to be such a hassle. It was a drag having to slow down to everyone else's speed. So I did dumb stuff like trashing the lockers at school, and of course I got caught.

So then—this is the really freaky part—this guy shows up, and offers to break me out of jail, if I would come work for him.

Yeah, sure, I said. Doing what?

You'll see, he said. He gave me this address and told me this is where I was gonna live from now on.

Okay. Fine. I get a new place to live, I get my record expunged, and as a special added bonus, I get to kick Daniels' ass any time I feel like it. He's such a wuss. He thinks he's all that, but he ain't even close. It's almost too easy to make him look like the fool he is.

I'm bored. I'm always bored. Think I'll go buzz the X-mansion and set off all their alarm systems. Or maybe I'll go try to find the boss lady, see what she's up to. Or maybe . . . all of the above. I got all the time in the world.

It's gonna be a fun night.


	10. X. Mystique

X. Mystique 

I've got to get out of here. It's been eight months, two weeks, and four days since I last had sex, and I can't hold out any longer. I need to go downtown, find some guy, and have a very interesting night.

I make some excuse to the boys, but I really don't care if they know or not. It's none of their business, anyway.

I look on it as a form of exercise, that's all. There's no emotional involvement in it for me. I won't make that mistake again. It's just an itch that needs scratching.

So I go to the best pick-up bar in town, the Hustle. Nice name, huh? They must have decided, the hell with being subtle. The fact that there's a "no-tell" hotel down the block only adds to its charm.

Don't get me wrong; I'm not easy or anything. I don't do this on a regular basis, just when I need . . . some special attention.

And I always go in disguise, so no one knows me. Don't want it getting around town that the high school principal sleeps around. Or even worse, run into one of the other teachers. There are a few who drop in here from time to time, and one who's a regular, but I've never been with him. He doesn't like girls, if you know what I mean.

I get to the bar, after parking a few blocks away, and assess the place as I walk in. Nope, no good ones yet. I sit down at the bar and order a drink.

Hey, maybe if I get really hammered, **anyone **will look good.

Okay, I've been here an hour, and none of these losers looks approachable. The guy by the door is cute, but there's a ghost of a wedding ring on his finger. I'm not going down that road again. 

It never fails. When I'm on the street, minding my own business, every man within a ten-block radius has a comment, or just a look. But when I go **looking **for it, they all disappear. Am I being too aggressive? Is my body language saying "desperate"?

Hold on, something interesting just came through the door. Cowboy hat and denim jacket, but on him they look rugged, not posey. He's giving off a vibe that makes that secret place inside me ache with anticipation.

He's the one, then. I try to think of a way to approach him . . .

. . . and then he turns and looks my way.

Oh God, it's Wolverine. Of all people . . .

Does he know who I am? Can he see through the disguise? Right now I look, to everyone else, like a twenty-five-year-old blonde, but what is he seeing? 

Is this too weird, for either of us?

Oh well, I guess there's only one way to find out.

I signal the bartender. "Give me a gin and tonic, and whatever the gentleman wants."

The bartender nods and goes to prepare the drinks. Time to turn on the charm.

"I'm Michelle."

"Just call me Logan." He looks me up and down, and again I wonder if he can see right through me.

"That your first name or your last name?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does if I'll be screaming it at the ceiling in a little while," I say, before I can stop myself. Then I want to kick myself for letting such a stupid line past my lips. Oh, great, now he'll be turned off . . .

"We got time for that drink first?"

My mouth drops open. He must have come here looking for the same thing. "Sure."

"The hotel, right?"

"So who pays?" I ask, trying to act like I know the first thing about flirting.

"Since you were kind enough to pay for the drinks," Logan says, "I'll spring for the room."

"Ah, you **are **a gentleman. You really know how to treat a lady."

"Depends on the lady."  
Our drinks come, and we sip and stare at each other in silence. The tension is killing me. I may not be able to wait till we get to the hotel—up against the wall in the alley will do for me.

Eight months. Eight freaking months. Forget the alley, how about right here on the bar?

Logan's looking at me funny. "You okay, darlin'?"

"Yes, just a little . . . excited," I say, trying not to let him see how excited.

He smiles, and we finish our drinks.

Oh. My. God.

It's better than I thought it would be.

So far we've done just about everything I've ever heard of, sometimes two or three at a time, sometimes taking turns. Nothing too kinky, of course, not to start out with, but we've already had to send down to Room Service three times for . . . supplies, so to speak.

He's a lot gentler than I thought he might be. He takes his time, and touches me exactly where I need to be touched. With different parts of his body.

Despite his code name and manner, he's not an animal. He is very much a man. I could get to like this. Except this isn't going to be a regular thing, is it? That's the only bad thing about all of this. We will most likely never touch each other this way again.

We've played around long enough. He does what he came here for, and oh, God, I needed this.

His hands are around my waist, pushing himself deeper and deeper. Mine are on his shoulders. 

And then . . .

I have never felt like this in my life. I feel so incredibly good, there is nothing in the world like it. I can't believe I could ever feel like this ever again, not since . . . well, never mind about that. Here and now is so much more important. Our bodies melt together as we become one unit, one flesh, one . . . 

There's a pounding at the door. Damn, I forgot this place rents rooms by the hour.

"Your time's up," the manager calls through the crack in the door. "I got people waiting for the room."

Logan disentangles himself from me. "Yeah, yeah, we're comin'."

"I thought we already did," I say, my lame attempt at a joke.

He picks up his clothes off the floor and throws me mine. "Sorry it had to end like this."

"Oh, it was good for me."

"What'd you say your name was again?"

I freeze. He **does **know who I am. He's trying to catch me out. Luckily I'm too smart for him.

"Michelle."

He nods and puts his hat on. "See you around, Michelle."

Outside the front door, he goes his way, I go mine . . . and that's that.


	11. XI. Logan

IN THE DARK

**XI. ****Logan**

I gotta go out. I've been locked up in here too long, and certain needs are making themselves known. Well, the kids are asleep, and 'Ro's . . . otherwise occupied. I should go in there and offer, but . . . I dunno. It just wouldn't be right. I have too much respect for her.

Time for me to go find a woman I don't have to respect myself with.

What kind of an idiot calls a bar the Hustle? Either they built it during the Disco Era, or else they aren't big on subtlety. It's cheap. It's sleazy. It's perfect. No one I know would hang out in a place like this. So I'm safe.

Or am I? When I step inside, I catch a familiar scent. I track it to its source right away.

She's camouflaged herself to look like a little blonde thing, but I'd know Mystique's scent anywhere.

What is she up to? She sees me, but she doesn't make a move. Is she waiting for someone?

Suddenly she's behind me. "Buy you a drink, cowboy?"

I turn and look at her. I usually go for redheads, but . . . I'll play along and see where she's going. She wouldn't try anything with all these people around, I know that.

We sit down at the bar and wait for our drinks.

"I'm Michelle," she says. She's still playing this game; why, I don't know. Maybe I can find out.

"Just call me Logan."

"That your first name or your last name?"

"Does it matter?"

"It does if I'll be screaming it at the ceiling in a little while."

She's got to be kidding. But no, I can smell it on her. She came here for the same reason I did: a little action. And I'm not talking about fighting.

"We got time for that drink first?"

She looks pleased.

I agree to pay for the hotel, and just like that, the deal's done. She **is **a desperate woman. What's wrong, Mags won't let her play with him?

It doesn't matter now. We leave the bar and walk over to the hotel, practically holding hands. Her skin is warm against mine—and we haven't even started yet.

I'm trying not to think too much about this. She's pretty, in this disguise, but I can't help picturing what she really looks like underneath. It doesn't kill the desire at all. Funny, I always wanted to know if she was blue all over . . .

There's an awkward moment when the door closes. I look at her, she looks at me. Neither of us wants to be the first to make a move. Don't want to look **too **desperate. Finally I come up with an idea.

"We'll both undress at the same time."

"On the count of three," she agrees.

We count together. On three, the clothes come off.

I look her over. If that's her real body, it's pretty impressive.

"Are you just gonna look," she says, "or are we getting down to business?"

"Business sounds good."

**Very **good.

I have never touched anyone, or been touched, the way we are right now. I've never been with anyone so . . . responsive to my touch. Once she got over the fear that I would rip her apart like an animal, she got into it. She's enjoying this, too. That's good. I wouldn't want her not to have a good time, after going to all this trouble.

All too soon, it ends. But it ends at the best part—we both climax at the same time. I'm so busy I forget to check if she changes back into her usual self. But it doesn't matter now.

Before we've even had a minute to recover, there's a pounding on the door. Our time's up.

The clothes go back on. I look at her . . . and I can't believe I did this. At the same time, I'm glad I did. She looks like she feels the same way.

We split up at the front door. I start to walk back to where I parked the bike—

And then I see a flash of movement out of the corner of my eye. I reach out, and grab a handful of white hair.

"Ow! Ow ow ow! Leggoleggo!"

"You're out past your bedtime."

"I just got here!" Pietro whines. 

I let go of his hair. "Sure you did."

"No, really! I just happened to come by here . . ."

I'm not buying it. "Look, kid, it's none of your business what goes on here. Now go home and go to bed."

"Where's Mystique?"

"How should I know? Probably went back to her car. You better get home before she does."

"Ah, I'm just getting started."

This kid's getting on my nerves. I grab him by the front of the shirt and pull him closer. "Look, Road Runner, you get out of here right now or you'll be running home on two broken legs."

I can see the fear in his eyes. He knows I'll do it, too.

"And if you mention one word of this to Daddy—" Now there's surprise as well as fear. "Oh, yeah, I knew all about that. Anyway, Junior, it's past your bedtime. Go on home, and it ends here. But if you want to make it hard on yourself—"

I hold an arm up to his throat. If I'm lucky, and he's smart, I won't even have to use the claws.

There's a tense moment.

"All right," he says. "I'm going."

He's off like greased lightning. I hope Mystique catches him and beats the crap out of him. Kid's got more guts than brains.

Thinking of Mystique makes me stiffen up again. God, she was good. I can still feel her all over . . .

_Don't be stupid_, says a little voice in my head. _Get a move on, cowboy, it's late._

I reach the bike at last. I can't help one look back over my shoulder, even though I know she's long gone.

Funny how the last person in the world I expected to meet tonight, turned out to be the best thing that ever happened to me.

I kick the bike into gear and head for home.


	12. XII. Xavier

IN THE DARK

**XII. Xavier**

I can hear them all, their minds whispering in the dark like ghosts.

They should all be asleep, and some of them are, but some lie awake, thinking of the past or the future—never the present. Too painful.

Rogue, desperate to touch, pleasures herself in secret, and imagines a lover's face.

Kurt dreams of a childhood friend who never saw how different he was.

Scott thinks of Jean, Kitty thinks of Kurt, Jean . . . Jean is full of other people's pain, and wishes it would go away. I know how she feels. It's not easy to know the secrets that other people keep. Sometimes this gift **does **seem like a curse, but all gifts come with a price, and some prices are higher than others.

In the dark, things come out that we would never admit to in daylight. It's only in the dark that Ororo will admit to how desperately lonely she is. We isolate ourselves from the rest of humanity, to protect ourselves (or them), then ache for a human touch.

Even now, Evan is puzzling over his aunt's activity, wondering how he could have missed the signs. Daylight hides many things; it's not his fault.

In the distance, I can hear Logan returning from town. I know where he's been, and with whom. I can't say that I approve, but he is an adult, and anything he does on his own time is his own business.

His secrets are so deeply buried even darkness can't reveal them. I've known him for years, and even I don't really know him. I wonder if anyone does, or ever will.

Our secrets are all that keep us alive in a hostile world. If anyone found out about us . . . well, it wouldn't be good. For us or them. These children aren't ready yet, but I can only protect them for so long. My greatest fear is that someone will find out and try to hurt them, over something they can't control. The walls are thick here, and the lights are always on, because dangerous things can happen . . . in the dark.

THE END

(Well, how did you like this little experiment? Want to see more? You know what to do.)


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